a change is just around the corner

///--->>>rethinking art, contemporaneity and (my)self

Works and Curations

Thursday, December 1, 2016

ON THE SUPREME COURT AND THE NATIONAL FLAG

 Image from  -  Of 2G, illegal mining and the Supreme Court! 2011 http://www.rediff.com/business/slide-show/slide-show-1-yearend-2011-of-2g-illegal-mining-and-the-supreme-court/20111228.htm


Appalled at the aghast being expressed , jamming my facebook newsfeed about the Supreme Court ruling #indiannationalflag , i write this note in some haste and a sense of urgency.
In my opinion, the Supreme Court of India has been the keeper of status quo, rather than the harbinger of change. The landmark judgments, have been towards keeping the 'spirit of the constitution' , rather than alteration , upgradation of that 'spirit' . Also this  'spirit of the constitution' dos not exist in vacuum, it is imagined and embodied by a heteronormative , patriarchal , casteist population; articulated and practiced by their elites.  This judgement of the Supreme Court tells us what the Supreme Court of India imagines 'urban India' would want. I would stress that till now there has not been a single judgement in which the jurisprudence is not framed by that imagination.


Yes, all these years we have fought against this very jurisprudence, I remember the young me and my heart sinking reading about the Sardar Sarobar verdict, before that Bhopal had happened, lately article 377, and so many in between (how does one forget marital rape?) . Lately, reflecting the growing urban citizen activism , the Supreme Court too became 'activistic' . However if one looks at the 2G and Coal Mining scams, no real big politician of the center and business giant is in big shit trouble.

Also , our current ruling party is extremely brash and aggressive. The implementation of the Adhar Card is a case study. The Supreme Court has repeatedly ruled that the government cannot make Adhar card compulsory for any state benefits. Yet the central government refused to listen and is linking it to every citizenship transaction. We did not bother to stand up and support the court, we all lined up for our Adhar Cards instead. Where are we really investing our ideology?

The first hearing of the demonisation case made me feel that the courts did not want a constitutional stand off. Imagine the consequence if the courts had called demonitisation illegal and the Prime Minister had still implemented it (that is exactly what would have happened) ? The Supreme Court is already faced with a takeover bid, the new regime is pushing hard infringe it completely and change the very structure. At this juncture being 'publicly humiliated' could possibly mean loosing the battle and the war . There has been a sea change in the nature of elites who practice and articulate the imagination of India and this new elite is forcing the judiciary to re consider its (old) imagination.

Either way by now the courts had realised that no matter how much they decree, people not standing up to the National Anthem will be beaten up, and also realising ( by the case study of Maharashtra) most urban people are willing participants, the Supreme Court cant possibly see any wrong in its judgement.

Also we are falling into a trap. Our attack on the systematic destruction of the Indian Constitution by the new government ( as they try to come up with an undated one for 'hindu' , neoliberal India) , is getting distracted every day by a new tamasha. This shower of tamashas  is in fact the systematic attack. We all know it, but suddenly we are like rabbits caught under a headlight.






Tuesday, November 15, 2016

Anish Kapoor | Death of the Conceptual


AESTHETICIZING POLITICS VERSUS POLITICIZNG AESTHETICS

Anish Kapoor’s “Cloud Gate” (2006) following the artist’s recent recoating in Vantablack (photo courtesy City of Chicago)
via http://hyperallergic.com/287628/anish-kapoor-coats-cloud-gate-in-the-darkest-black-known-to-humanity/

To get to the heart of Kapoor's thinking and making we must register the difference between physicality of void space, and truly made emptiness. Let us use Heidegger 's beautiful parable of the jug for these purposes. What does the potter make when he shapes the jug? Of what material is the jug made? The potter forms the sides and bottom of the jug in clay to provide the means for it to stand, to be vertical; to make the jug a holding vessel, however, he has to shape the void. 'From start to finish the potter takes hold of the impalpable void and brings it forth as the container in the shape of a containing vessel… . The vessel's thingness does not lie at all in the material of which it consists, but in the void that it holds.'
Homi BhabaThe True Sign of Emptiness
http://anishkapoor.com/185/making-emptiness-by-homi-k-bhabha


Anish Kapoor has been creating lavish, sensual abstract, sculptural forms for over four decades. Over the years he has been rated as one of the best contemporary sculptors, and in a way as the 'master of public art'. Homi Bhaba in his analytical eulogy of Kapoor, offers us Kapoor as the ‘maker of emptiness’. In this short piece stems from my discomfort with how Bhaba gets so lost in the philosophy of emptiness that he becomes completely blind to materiality and its impact on the politics of visual culture. 

The blind spot that Bhaba and Kapoor share for ‘thingness’ and materiality is not new. This is the blind spot shared by the genre of makers and thinkers whom we can call neo liberal conceptual artists. This group that has grown to be rich and powerful, twisted the radical possibilities of conceptual art. Conceptual art as a practice emerged at a time when the authority of the art institution and the preciousness of the unique aesthetic object were being widely challenged and artists felt the need to interrogate the possibilities of art-as-idea or art-as-knowledge. It was a breakaway from formalism, bringing in a new philosophy of materiality. The neo liberal contemporary group has managed to quote  the linguistic, mathematical, and process-oriented dimensions of  conceptual art , yet has gone on to support and buffer the very hegemonic systems, structures, and processes conceptual art poised itself against.

The popularity of conceptual thought in contemporary art practices has created a moment of oxymoron in art history. At one level, bowing to the pressures from corporate and museums that are mediated through gallery practices, artist have to large scale fabrications and have effectively become cultural producers. There is a visual dominance of the large, the phallic, of the archival, of the vaginal and of the spectacular.  Materiality, finish and longevity have become more and more important for artists who claim their art has got nothing to do with the ‘thingness’ and exist purely in conceptual terms.  It is this oxymoron that results in a situation where Anish Kapoor patents the blackest colour, claims that it is the darkest colour, thereby showing a complete lack of conceptual understanding about darkness. Nor does he explore the politics of the concept metaphor called 'black'. Just like the modernist masters for him it is a 'pure aesthectic' engagement.One can forgive Kapoor for this blind spot, but how does one forgive Bhaba?  The coat of Vatablack on the Cloud Gate gives a fantastic sense of a dark void, visually flattening out its voluptuous form.  If anything the ‘thingness’ is the only thing left visible, yet it is the very thing Bhaba and Kapoor deny. 

The collapse of discourse over skill , materiality as art history was run over by literary studies has lead to primarily semiotic , interpretations of art works even though it remains well known that image and objects carry an excess which cannot be reduced to textual interpretations. Questions of ethics and politics got swept away by the neo liberal market economy and a middle class distracted by its manufactured desire. Ethics of course has become unfashionable, but politics has gone on to become a decorative motif. Most of our contemporary masters make work in which the politics of making is in opposition to the political content of the work.  Conceptual art becomes an easy escape door for these artists , by denying the ‘thingness’ they can escape the politics of its making .





Sunday, October 23, 2016

best beauty treatment for her



i don't know what to make of the smile they shared
she almost looked away, looked back and the then dropped her gaze
he was so happy to see her that he could not stop looking
could not stop himself from coming close and holding her 
she melted in his arms too
and there was so much heat
maybe they had missed that physical touch
maybe they had still loved each other
maybe they just missed each others body
they made love ,they kissed they spoke through the night 
sharing intimacies only they can share
it seems they missed the softness and the care
they could not sleep that night
their bodies had met after too long
too deeply aware of the other to be able to sleep
when the morning came, they parted
that too was gentle and soft
it was in the parting that the ritual of separation was enacted again
we don't know what each took back that morning 
maybe for her it was the touch the sex and the way he held her
also the comfort of knowing that he still loved
maybe or him it was the words they shared and the heat of her body
also knowing that making love was the best beauty treatment for her 


Monday, August 1, 2016

Cat Lover's Sundays



All night she has been a ghost
Not in the usual sense that cats always are
All night she has been a ghost to herself
She lived with humans
But had not realised that cat lovers are only free on Sundays
She had three children
Three spunky playful kitten
She had gone for a evening prowl
They came in turns and took two away
She did not know that cat lovers were only free on Sundays
They took away her healthiest children
She had no chance to say goodbyes
She has been a ghost all night
Crying looking for her children
Still trying to understand that cat lovers are only free on Sundays
The thinnest weakest one was still there
Lost and lonely
In the evening they were all playing together
Then one by one two were gone
Too young to understand that cat lovers are only free on Sundays
Their dinner is uneaten
Their is a sense of despair in her eyes
Looking for her children in every shadow cast
Crying the night away
Another litter might come and go
But cat lovers are free only on sundays.
All night she has been a ghost
Not in the usual sense that cats always are
All night she has been a ghost to herself
She lived with humans
But had not realised that cat lovers are only free on Sundays
She howls as she cries
One can feel her silently going mad
Little by little as her hopes fade
Sometimes picking her self and going for another search
She is yet to realise that cat lovers are only free on Sundays

Monday, June 27, 2016

#SORROW

Digital reworking on Van Gogh's  'Sorrow'



How did we become like this
Atleast Kafka thought of it as a nightmare
We have reduced it to the mundane
In India you do not need television to see amputated legs on the streets
Or men and women with eyes gouged out 
We see that everyday
On our way to work
On our way to parties
They are there all the time haunting our crossroads
Alienation cannot capture how disconnected we are 
What do these people invoke in us 
Even the ones who patronise build walls of apathy
We know the violent cruel system of human trafficking 
We even ignore them on our way to Jantar Mantar 
Coming together to protest for lands some of these beggars might have migrated from.

Saw something violent on the other day
That day when my facebook wall was lamenting brexit
Screaming and calling democracy stupid
That evening i saw a pregnant beggar
And my mind erupted
People right in front of us
Sucked into the dirty underbelly of urban begging
The levels of greed have become so steep
That they are being sucked straight from the womb
A violent hatred for left liberalism erupted from within
All those people who call democracy dumb
Who hate the urban losers of globalisation
Even as they dream of protecting the landscape and the environment

I cannot relate to people who use politics to judge and enforce their elitism
Nor with people who constantly call people stupid
This they do just to hide themselves  
And their glaring failure to be connected with different aspirations
That is almost all of my facebook feed
And that young pregnant lady begging at our crossroads
She brought out so many things
Waiting and gathering like the monsoon clouds
Again those thoughts raging in my head
Atleast Kafka thought of it as a nightmare
We have reduced it to the mundane
My pain of brexit
And the way we ignore the urban poor (even) on our way to Jantar Mantar 
Coming together to protest for lands some of these beggars might have migrated from







Sunday, June 5, 2016

Numbness and a Dear Friend


How is it to be numb my dear friend 
Is it a comfortable place 
Like in the Pink Floyd song
I heard brown sugar makes you numb
That is why I never did sugar
I have an handicap
I cannot understand numbness
We are all numbed are we not
Born into four concrete walls
Our right to live depends on money
Trading relationships for sustainability
Choking rivers with our filth 
How could we survive our modern lives
If we were not all numb
How long will be go on surviving dear friend
We live life as if our soul is an excess 
Which can be ignored, forgotten , castaway
As we live our lives busy 
Feeding, clothing, decorating and entertaining our self(s)
Yes if we do it for too long 
A numbness does envelope us
Taking us further and further away from this world
If we get too hurt 
A numbness does envelope us
Cutting us away from people close to us
I don't think we ever become numb my dear friend
Yes, an envelope of numbness envelopes us
Blessed are those who feel that envelope
The feeling is the first step towards melting that envelope away
You will slowly remember 
I cannot understand numbness
We are all numbed are we not
Born into four concrete walls
Our right to live depends on money
Trading relationships for sustainability
Choking rivers with our filth 
How could we survive our modern lives
If we were not all numb
The very act of living is our constant negotiation
Finding ways and energies
Reaching out from this numbness
Grabbing all the love, magic and connections we can
One may get distracted again
Feeding, clothing, decorating and entertaining our self(s)
Maybe the envelope returns
It will again melt away my dear friend
Each time it returns it is an invitation to look after yourself 
To understand how depended on this world we are
Yet, to let that make you feel more connected and free
How is it to be numb my dear friend 
Is it a comfortable place
Even if for just a while









Sunday, May 22, 2016

#savebastar


#emergency 

'Man on a leash' , edited android screen shot. 2016

Monday, February 29, 2016

Dancing with the Devil




Dancing with the Devil is a curatorial project which aims to interrogate and decodes the notions of beauty that circulate in the gallery practices of Contemporary Indian Art.

 The title of the show is inspired by the song of 
rapper 
Immortal Technique. The song contains a narrative in which Immortal Technique describes the story of a young man named Billy Jacobs who attempts to join a gang, and in order to prove how "real" he is, he steals, gets into fights, sells crack cocaine, and to finally prove himself, rapes a woman. An intoxicated Jacobs completes this task after covering the woman's face with her shirt, and is unaware of the identity of the woman until he takes the cover from her face. He is repulsed to find that the woman in question is actually his mother, which leads him to commit suicide.


The show focuses on a group of artists who  who live on the edge of contemporary art,  both in terms of art making and 'living as an artist' .  It is a curatorial re visitation of  questions around an ideal 'artist' . We can ask, what is not contemporary art? what are the trends that have the potential to de stabilise how the the word and the praxis of contemporary culture is understood? This  engagement goes beyond 'manner', and focusses into the process of art making itself.  Embracing an understanding of art that is almost suicidal in the context of how the contemporary imagines itself. 

 In this way the show seeks to become a collaboration between the artists Merlin Moli, Chi Muk, Sambaran Das, Moumita Ghosh, Aditi Chitre,  Rishi Dharia and Varnita Mahajan) and the curator. 

There is definitely an engagement with darkness...but what kind of darkness is the show looking at-
  • The praxis of contemporary art has created this structure inside which contemporary artist hood exists.   home, studio, gallery, (s), residencies, biennales, fairs and so many things have begun to define the lifestyle of being an artist. But if art has to become independent of market forces, we need to look at artists who survive on the tangents  of structure of contemporary artist-hood. 

  • as we explore the political and the personal (and spaces in between)- it is important to interrogate the Contemporary's marriage of politics and beauty. What is the zone beyond that. We will be (re) exploring the content-technique-form-presentation dialogue in New Media Art. 

  • We do see a return of analogue in terms of taste and demand. The formal face of contemporary art is changing. Digital polished surfaces seem to have be out of fashion- but this post digital analogue, is still very 'consumable' - : still working within the mainstream idea of beauty.Darkness here is the edge of practice; emerging painting styles that are formally very rooted to the 'painterly'  yet extremely resistant to becoming a 'beautiful object on the wall - as we search for a post contemporary directions,  right  now it is important to focus on the borderline between the beauty and and the ugly. 
The show will be held at the NINE Schools of Art for a period of twenty days starting on the 23rd of April 2016. 








Sunday, February 28, 2016

THE MANY DEATHS OF ROHIT VEMULA


The first blow came from his comrades
Realising that his struggles meant nothing to his Marxist brothers , he moved on further left
That was some years ago
Rohit took the blow and like any good fighter
Used the blow to become stronger

Somewhere though, the death had set in
A young Marxist was forced to become a young Dalit Marxist
the world of universities and learning , could not free him from caste suppression
They pushed him deeper into it
Yes, the first blow came from his comrades

The second blow came from the nation
Caste is history they said
Some even said, caste was the culture of the nation
Yet they believed that talking about caste now, destroys the nation

Rohit loved justice too
It is a sad one sided love story
He and his friends felt that Yakub Menon did not get justice
They called some some friends to talk about Yakub Menon and justice

A small band of boys, radical and isolated
A small band of boys with a one sided love affair with justice
Easy to isolate and destroy
A strong south Asian powerhouse began flexing its muscles and nationalism
Such strength against a small band of boys
Dalit Marxists , with a one sided love affair with justice
Yes the second blow came from the nation

The third blow might have come from us all
Poverty, hunger, pride loneliness and fire
Rohit must have remembered his old Marxist friends 
There were many of them and in large numbers
They had all the organisation and structures
There were many love affairs they still shared

But they were still silent 
Busy with their grand struggle against capitalism
there were any who did connect 
But, they too were isolated, few and sometimes far away 

It is an absence of hope that lead to a suicide
A complete absence of hope
Yes, the third blow might have come from us all

Rohit died, but left behind a body that was so alive
Finally in death, maybe he just wanted to be
Just a student, bright, political, hounded by institutions; 
a bright citizen who had to leave all hope
Yet in his death he became more Dalit
His identity further hounded

Rohit's fire had touched many hearts
Many of his older Marxist friends too came out on the streets
Marching and chanting
They brought in their old battles
Fascism and capitalism won over Rohit again

The final (yet)  flow came from his comrades 
Even as his mother lead an emotional candle light march
Even as she was assaulted, arrested
The old Marxist friends stayed inside universities debating nationalism and capitalism

Yes, the final flow came from his comrades 
His narrative does not suit their memory






The room where Rohith killed himself . (Source: Express photo by Harsha Vadlamani) - See more at: http://indianexpress.com/article/india/india-news-india/dalit-scholar-rohith-vemula-the-student-the-leader/#sthash.lMlEpZ9R.dpuf


Sunday, January 17, 2016

A Blank Verse For My Smile




Once, smile had a meaning
Its own connection with eternity
Now the connection is gone but everything else remains
Just that, the best things do not bring out a smile any more
Sometimes they bring out a deep sigh
Learning that the faintest smiles etch the deepest
Sometimes i smile when death heals
Someone has to give that farewell smile
Jokes too make me smile, so does love
Everything negotiated through that broken connection with eternity


Tuesday, December 8, 2015

A BLANK VERSE FOR A TROUBLED RIVER



Floating on the web @ tumblr.com


The night was a neon outburst of emotions
Dawn brought some dread, some hope
The other side was steeped in dusk
They sat down to drink some tea
Hoping their dawn would shed some light
But, the other side was still dark
Some music could perhaps to stir the soul
Can music save a dark dying river
Can a river ever die
The tea pot was empty
But no one knew what was inside
On the other side, the dusk still lingered
How does light come in
Do we know how to remove our shadows
Unanswered questions over a opaque tea pot
Dusk came in and soaked their senses
The dusk on the other side lingered on
Another night, another neon outburst of emotions





Sunday, November 22, 2015

The Hint of Violence:

My catalogue essay for Indrapramit Roy’s solo-show with Galerie 88 Kolkata. ‘Mezzaterra’, previewing on 20 November, 2015.



Maybe the "trivial" is just a failed version of the "everyday." The everyday, or the commonplace, is the most basic and the richest artistic category. Although it seems familiar, it is always surprising and new. But at the same time, there is an openness that permits people to recognize what is there in the picture, because they have already seen something like it somewhere. So the everyday is a space in which meanings accumulate, but it's the pictorial realization that carries the meanings into the realm of the pleasurable.”Tumlr, Jan | The Hole Truth.


What is tension, but a hint of violence?

The paintings carry the sense of empty sets.   Sometimes they seem to be anticipating actions, sometimes we see residues of actions by characters that we never see. Spaces and objects, become metaphors that evoke the drama. The artist takes away the human agency as the prime actors of the drama, but the human presence is everywhere - the serendipity and violence that lies in the zones of absence and presence. The space and the objects speak about that presence, and are frozen moments of cinematic tension. However, these are not just spaces and objects; they are of a special kind. These mundane, ordinary spaces carry the empathy of intimacy, an intimacy achieved, not only through durational bonding, but also often through experiences and memories.  They seem to want to tell a story and stay silent about what the story could be.

Over a period of over ten years Indrapramit Roy has been experimenting with a visual language that capture the emptiness and tensions when mundane meets the everyday in moments of transience. At the same time; emptiness, tensions, mundane, transience only touch upon the surface of his imagination. When one visits his art from the aspect of language formation, one can read many linkages and cross references in modes and strategies between the artistic influences, political positions and engagements regarding the aesthetic value of objects and spaces.


The Aesthetics of ‘contemporary art’ has long being governed by the idioms of content, style and concept, when experimentation and investigations over Form and Language (almost) surrendered to the digital/electronic media. Contemporary Art itself began by being critically distant, cold; layered by dominant purity, pristine images, perfect copies and spectacular illusions. Indrapramit Roy belongs to an early group of contemporary Indian painters who realised that mediatic-realism needed to be scratched and washed if painting had to offer alternatives to the neo liberal-digital progress. In the emptiness of contemporaneity the notions of physicality and body are very important. Indrapramit Roy’s engagement with painting has always been through a physical engagement with materiality; right from his very early experiments with frame of the canvas, his journey into multiple and shaped canvases, the cardbox box period, and lately in his combination of drawing, marking , painting, overlaying actions that mark his watercolour series. 





Indrapramit Ray's artistic practice has always found its edge by producing art which is a constant critique of the ‘fashionable’, interrogating the manner in which medium, form, motifs are chosen, rendered and presented. Yet his subversion does not take the direction of the anti-aesthetic. In fact, his dialogue is deep rooted in the linguistic structure of form, line colour and space (they become tools for expressing a Jamesonian[i]* lament about the contemporary celebration of surface-ciality). It attempts to reconstruct the philosophical tradition of affective alterity and to construct a discourse though one's own artistic journey.


The architectonic, layered, compositions, the love for bird’s eye views that become important for Roy’s language formation hints at of narrative traditions ranging from the murals of Giotto to Benode Behari Mukherjee and works of artists like Bhupen Khakhar and Gulam Mohammed Sheikh. At the same time Roy situates himself in a post narrative mode. The high-density motifs, textures, figures and postures disappear, instead the viewer is invited to pause and imagine. He is one of the rare artists who have taken the idea of a culture far beyond the domains of the narrative and the iconic.  The paintings become propositions towards a fresh understanding of the pictorial surface.  The post narrative tradition that Roy begins to articulate, is not interested in the city as the site of the local or in the play of urban folklores.  His cities are motifs, visited and revisited though alienated birds eye views or large illuminated empty spaces; in either scenario no living beings are seen. The local exists for the intimate viewer, but these cityscapes are also templates, the artist transforms empirically observed places into wistful critiques of an empty present and a dystopian future.

The paintings offer us a space to rest our eyes, and in them, there is enough chaos to stir our anxieties. We live in an age of the spectacle, when images are designed to jump at you, craving for that attention that bounces off into the recesses of your overfed consciousness. In these times Roy offers us a different mode of seeing. It’s the quaint silence of a tranquil mind, etched with abstract anxieties.




The manner in which he mixes his media, the self consciousness about the various mediums and their aesthetics, and the manner in which he appropriates the photographic, the mediatic into the ‘painterly’; speak of a deep entrenchment into the history of visual vocabularies. Deeply influenced by modernity, Roy has always worked towards a critique of it. One can see his works as an aesthetic  critique of modernity , at another level , when one reads into his gaze, one sees an awareness of the historical/aesthetic  frameworks of class consciousness and the understanding of ‘spectacle’ and ‘intimacy’ as political categories. This class consciousness is significant it a time when class consciousness become marginal in the globalised imaginations and desires of urbanity; it marks a certain resistance to the homogenization of the urban into a globalised cosmopolitan. It is this post modern critique of contemporary, which strongly marks his experiments with watercolor and drawing. 

The lived cultural memory of the class is layered; layered by the nostalgia of a past, layered by the anxieties of the day to day, layered by the celebration of the present and layered by the skepticism and fascinations about the future Celebration of the neon; co exists with the empathy for the decay. Sometimes, it gets inverted to celebration of the decay and anxieties about the neon[ii]. Through the intimacy of his object studies and alienation of his cityscapes, we see Roy invoking the relationships between humanity and urbanity, between beauty and spectacle.



The painted surface is not just a residue of pictorial mark making and rendering, it is also a reflection of the artist own gaze, the way he or she engages with the world, and how images morph inside our heads. Roy is not a flâneur, his gaze is not shifty, behind the scenes and documentative. Instead his gaze has closer connections with the discourse on boredom as a discursively articulated phenomenon, one that understands leisure as both objective and subjective. This brings into his subject matter not just a sense of response to the world but also a historically constituted strategy for coping with its discontents. In his paintings, leisure and hints of boredom become fundamental to the experience of time and problems of meaning, creating that hint of tension between notions of existence, consumption and taste. 





[i][i] Fredric Jameson, Postmodernism, or, The Cultural Logic of Late Capitalism Verso, 1991

Monday, August 31, 2015

The touch of sweat and sperm is itchy

The mix of sperm and sweat is becoming unbearable
The sticky humidity makes it worse
Please turn on the air conditioning
But there is no electricity in Gaza for over a year now
But Delhi is humid and has no windows
The touch of sweat and sperm is itchy
Sticky humidity makes it worse
Maybe we should take a long shower
But my friend lives in a salt pan far away in Kutch
They share a bucket of clean water for a week
I cannot take the itchy stickiness any longer
Please turn on the air conditioning
And I will pray for the submerged villages of Narmada
The chill of air conditioning is making my skin desire touch
I want to chase your warmth again
The sperm the sweat I desire so much
Delhi is humid and has no windows
But in my room now so far away from Gaza
Air conditioning brings out my goosebumps
And makes the mix of sperm and sweat seem so much better.





Sunday, August 16, 2015

Female Body Inside - Rhine Stone @IAF2014






It was the winter of 2014, the vulnerability of the female body in the public sphere was occupying minds and public action across the country. The high art season was at its peak, just 2 days before the India Art Fair . Deeply immersed in exhibition set up, parties and heated debates..I almost did not pic up the phone when it rang.
Rhine's voice - " I am on my way to Delhi , and i want to do the box performance again. Are  you in it? will you curate?"
I was still reeling, the box performance had the potential to touch many raw nerves.
"Where do want to do it?"
"Either India Gate or Art Summit?"
glimpses of Delhi police flashed by
"i am in, Rhine"

On the 2nd night of the IAF , we had a meeting - there was a small group of performance artists and friends who had travelled to Delhi from the Kolkata International Performance Art Festival. We figured out how to get the cardbox into the fair ground, Jeevan Suwal by now was becoming a specialist in assembling 'the box'. Who would dissapear with the clothes, with the shoes, how would the box Jeewan melt away after putting the box on Rhine, how do we insure documentation? How do we keep it guerrilla and yet inform audience before hand. 
I had already explore the audience reaction at IAF through Duchamp's Silence, so that helped. 

In the afternoon of the final day of the IAF2014, the performance was initiated. 


"ok, sending in chrono order now. dont have all pics but this is how it went box spotted opened - alarm - walkie talkies- board cover pink cloth whole lot of cloth screening off of area knew girl was in box and kept her in there. ambulance comes removed cop puts arm around a visibly quaking satadru and questions him.i go and try and rescue satadru they catch me cop says girl has fainted , i ask satadru her name and start shouting 'rhine are u ok'c op says go check on her-i go in to barricade with cops and ask firang girl why they are holding the box and if girl not ok will they take responsibility? they say no- i ask them to lift box and let in air they pull boxt here is a cheer as box is seen on top of screen- rhine is ok - firang girl says who r u? we can handle this, not your businessi am escorted out by cops-cops ask everyone to clear off from the area repeatedly--i start walking away and call you--i hear shouting, i start back by then screen is off and a dressed rhine is escorted in to the cafe and no one allowed near"
                                                                           un edited text from an email                                                                                       sent by Megha Joshi             


                               2/3/14










It was great to observe how notions of permission and fears of nudity had the potential to raise a bomb alert kind of situation, mobilising so much police, ambulance and so much security. The huge installation IAF organisers did in response to Rhine's body in the box reaffirms the destabilisation power of performance art.

Moreover it was interesting that one of our team members Sajan Mani was cornered by the security personel and shouted at This is not a public space ,, I want you to go out now "- 

They made sure with two security guards ...ironically one " public Performance " was going to happen the same ground !
The behaviour of the organisers brought forward issues of public/ private and permission which is dominating high art practices today.

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It was 7 pm, the fair was winding up, we were packing up the stalls- it had been over 3 hours and Rhine, Jeevan and Bhuvanesh were still in police custody-
I needed to intervene-
Anita Dube was at the Lakeeren stall, packing up- i just had to tell her and she immediate agreed to come with me.

Anita opened the gates , and then she had to go....after that for 3 hours we bullied and intimidated the police till they let us out.